


London Snow

by WolfieOnAO3



Category: Raffles (TV 1977), Raffles - E. W. Hornung
Genre: Christmas, Comedy, Conversation, Crime&Christmas, Dialogue Heavy, Fluff, M/M, Snow, character driven
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:54:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27821824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WolfieOnAO3/pseuds/WolfieOnAO3
Summary: 'I'm only teasing you, Bunny. Don’t let me succeed, old boy, it’ll only encourage me. And please do know, my dearest dear fellow, that if I could give you snow over London for Christmas, I would do so without hesitation; but alas! even I have my limits...'Raffles and Bunny discuss the likelihood of a White Christmas whilst walking to dinner.Written for Prompt 1 of theCrime & Christmas 2020 challenge, "Snow".
Relationships: Bunny Manders/A. J. Raffles
Comments: 8
Kudos: 8
Collections: Crime & Christmas 2020





	London Snow

**Author's Note:**

> The poem _London Snow_ from which this story took it's title was written by Robert Bridges in 1890, and is very pretty.

_December, 1891_

The evening, though early, was dark and cold as midnight, as early evenings in midwinter are wont to be. Though it was bitterly cold, the air was still and the skies were clear; the soft and warm navy of the November heavens was passing with the days into the sharp and crystalline blue-black of December, and the stars themselves seemed like droplets of shattered ice in an endless pool of cobalt ink. I peered up at them as I walked, scarf wrapped tightly around my neck beneath my upturned collar, one hand gripping the brim of my hat to prevent it from tumbling off as I raised my chin skyward, the other upon the arm of the man beside me.

‘Do you think it’ll snow for Christmas this year?’ I asked, half to the companion with whom I walked the quiet streets, half to the stars which glittered above our heads. 

Raffles glanced down at me, a teasing smile flickering in the corners of his mouth. ‘I don’t know,’ he said, looking me over, amusement dancing in his bright eyes. ‘Do you?’

‘I hope so,’ I replied, lowering my gaze finally from the skies ‒ looking up whilst walking not only makes you terribly dizzy, but also gives you a deucedly bad crick in your neck. ‘I know snow is inconvenient, and can be downright _dangerous_ for so many, but still...’

‘But still?’ Raffles echoed, still laughing at me in the fine creases at the edges of his eyes.

‘...Well‒’ I said, risking looking up at him, though I was certain he would make me blush at my own absurd sentimentalism, 'there’s just nothing quite so good as _snow_ at _Christmas_ , is there?’

A.J. laughed at me in open earnest then. ‘Nothing, Bunny?’ he chuckled with a shake of his curly head, ‘I can think of any number of things, myself; though I can’t confess to being the wildest admirer of the cold white stuff, not outside of paintings and poetry, in any event. Didn't last winter give you more than your fill of snow, my boy? There were piles and piles of it in January!’

‘Snow in January isn’t the same as snow at Christmas.’

‘Is it not? Does it fall warm and fluffy for the baby Jesus at Christmas, Bunny?’

‘Shut up. You know what I mean.’

‘I’m not certain I do, but I shall take your word for it. Still, after last winter, I’d think anyone should be grateful for a mild one. It’s all pretty enough for a few days, and I can't deny that there is devilish good fun to be had in snowball fights, but weeks of it is enough to make anyone sick of silver; and I’ve always preferred gold, in any case.’

‘I wasn’t even _in_ London when it last snowed properly,’ I sighed, thinking back to the sketches and illustrations I had seen of the city in newspapers and magazines that January, of the usually busy streets all blanketed in white. ‘I missed the lot of it.’

‘Were you not? I thought I’d heard you’d moved up here September, October time?’

‘How do you know that?’ Raffles merely shrugged and looked up at a bird taking flight from a tree. ‘Well, I did, in fact, move permanently to London in September, but I had ‒ _business_ ‒ elsewhere in the New Year which took me away.’

‘Ah. Those _fine_ horses, I presume?’

I glared at him sharply in reply, and A.J., being the suave and sophisticated gentleman that he was, poked his tongue out at me. 

‘Child,’ I growled, my traitorous mouth threatening to grin back in spite of the disastrous memory. ‘Well, in any case, I wasn’t in London for the snow, and I felt deucedly put out over it. I still do.’

‘Snow isn’t _exclusive_ to the city, Bunny; quite often the very opposite. Didn’t it snow in ‒ wherever it was you were?’

‘Y‒e‒s’ I replied, ‘but nowhere near so much; and even if it had done, it wouldn’t have been London, would it? _London_ in the snow is ‒ it’s ‒ there’s nothing else quite like it!’

 _‘The ear hearkened to the stillness of the solemn air; No sound of wheel rumbling nor of foot falling, And the busy morning cries came thin and spare,’_ Raffles recited, the poem drifting away into the chill darkness on the mists of his breath.

‘Exactly!’ I exclaimed, hugging his arm a little more tightly with my own. ‘You know, it was precisely Bridges of whom I was just thinking? That’s such a _vivid_ poem ‒ though when I first read it I admit it was rather salt in the wound. _I_ want to see _Paul’s high dome, spread forth below His sparkling beams_!’

‘And the _trains of sombre men_ as they _tread long brown paths_ through the mounting slush?’ Raffles replied in those cynical tones which never failed to irritate me. ‘Are you as eager for that, Bunny? You must care less about your shoes and stockings than I do mine!’

‘Why are you being so deucedly mundane about it, Raffles? I thought I’d at _least_ have a sympathetic ear from _you_ ; so much for “ _t_ _he artist_ ”! What have you so got against snow? ...Well other than it ruining shoes, which I do admit is damnably annoying, especially after they've salted it and‒ But nonetheless, A. J.!’

‘I've nothing against it,’ he laughed. ‘Though I can’t deny I prefer Spring and Summer to Winter. Winter sports are always so _wet_ ,’ he said, pulling a face. ‘But I am only teasing you; don’t let me succeed, old boy, it’ll only encourage me. And please _do_ know, my dearest dear fellow, that if I could give you snow over London for Christmas, I would do so without hesitation; but alas! even I have my limits.’

‘I doubt that,’ I said, allowing a reluctant smile to creep over my lips at his unsubtle, yet entirely successful, attempt at charming me. 

‘That I’d gift you snow, or that I have limits?’ he grinned.

'That you'll be in anyway discouraged if I don't respond to your teasing…'

'My dear Bunny, I am _always_ discouraged when you don't respond to me! And in complete sincerity, I _do_ hope that you get your snow, if that is what would make you happy, rabbit.'

‘It would make me quite happy,' I replied, feeling my cheeks grow warm in spite of the cold, helplessly won over by his shameless and endearing pandering. '...Which God is in charge of snow, A.J.? Do you know?’

Raffles clicked his tongue thoughtfully against his teeth. ‘You know, I’m not sure. I imagine those Viking chaps must have had a few, but I confess I’m not well versed in my Norse religions. Why? Thinking of petitioning one of them for a Yuletide blizzard? Didn’t have you down as a particularly religious chap, Bunny!’

I laughed, and, glancing at my feet, kicked a stray rock down the pavement, watching as it skittered across the blossoming night-time frost. ‘That I most certainly am not,’ I agreed with some vigour. ‘I was actually going to suggest we _burgle_ snow from whichever God is in charge of keeping it...’

‘Steal from the Gods!’ Raffles cried, amusement sparkling in his ice-clear eyes. ‘Bunny, you are becoming a veritable Prometheus! Plotting to rob the Heavens themselves! My dear chap, I didn’t realise you’d become quite as delinquent as all that! _Well_ ,’ he said, lowering his voice and leaning in close enough that I could feel the warmth of his breath against my skin, almost hypnotising in contrast to the bitter cold of the December air, ‘if it’s _theft_ you are after, now that I _can_ provide you with. Though not quite _snow_ , I have had my eye on one diamond in particular that glitters more than any fresh snowfall under the rising sun. Unfortunately it _is_ currently housed in a circlet owned by our most glorious monarch, but if anything an Empress is a _step down_ from a God, so I’m sure that will pose _no_ problems for _you_ , my soft-footed rabbit. Would taking the _Koh-i-noor_ satisfy your lust for ice-based crimes, Bunny?’ 

I turned to face him, my nose mere inches from his, and met his lively gaze with a steely eye of my own. ‘For starters, at least,’ I answered defiantly. ‘When shall we go take it, then; before or after dinner? I trust you already have a plan in mind?'’

For just a second I took immense pleasure in seeing Raffles ever so momentarily taken aback. He blinked at me, nonplussed by my evidently unexpected reply to his audacious and deliberately provocative suggestion, eyebrows raised just enough to satisfy my desire to surprise him. And then he clapped me on the shoulder and burst out with laughter. ‘Oh, you are getting better at that, Bunny! I almost believed you meant it!’

‘Almost!’

‘Well, naturally, my dear rabbit. You’d never be so unpatriotic as to sanction stealing from our Empire’s worthy and noble Queen. Of course, that was the _only_ reason I doubted your sincerity.’

‘I’d much rather have snow than a diamond,’ I sighed again, with unforgivable whimsy. ‘Even the Koh-i-noor.’

‘Bunny, with the Koh-i-noor you could buy a castle in the Swiss Alps, if you so wanted, and have the most pristine and pure snow reliably every year from November to March!’

‘I don’t _want_ pristine, pure, reliable snow, I want _London snow_ , Raffles. I want London snow at _Christmas_. Absolutely nothing else measures up!’

‘Spoken like a true patriot and a true poet, Bunny,’ Raffles smiled, covering my hand on his arm with his own, giving my cold fingers a warming squeeze. ‘Now, I _was_ going to suggest we take a trip to somewhere suitably snowy to ensure that you get your wish for a white Christmas, but, as you say, it really wouldn’t be the same in Switzerland, or Prague, or Austria or anywhere like that, so we may as well scratch that plan at the off…’

‘What! I say, hold on a moment there, A.J., I didn’t mean that‒'

‘No, no, I _completely_ understand,' he said, cutting me off, 'and you are quite right. Give me English snow at Christmas, or give me death! I admire your fealty, Bunny, I really do.’

‘Now, Raffles, when I said that‒’

‘I hear you loud and clear, my lad; you needn’t keep trying to persuade me!’

‘Raffles!’ I cried, dropping his arm and stopping in my tracks ‒ though this was not quite the emphatic gesture it might otherwise have been, as we had at that moment reached the front steps of Wilton’s and would have stopped walking anyway. Still, A.J. looked back at me with an eye twinkling with merriment and a smile dripping with playful challenge and irresistible charm. 

‘Mr Manders,’ he said, turning to me with a ridiculous half bow which made the doorman holding the door of the restaurant raise an impatient eyebrow, ‘perhaps you may be open to hearing my side of the argument over dinner? Perhaps I might, villain that I am, tempt you from your virtuous and patriotic dedication to your beloved London snow with my own panegyric to the beauty and unique attributes of winter in ‒ well, wherever, really. What say you to that?’

I bit my lip to keep from smiling, and shook my head. 'I might ‒ _might_ ‒ be convinced to come to " _w_ _herever really"_ , with you,’ I replied, more than happy to play along with his silly, coquettish game, though admittedly my cool tone was no doubt undermined by how hard I was trying not to grin at him, ‘but only if you are _very_ persuasive...’

'Ah, well then,’ said Raffles, linking his arm with mine once more, and pulling me up the few steps to the restaurant, 'I had best start immediately! For though, quite rightly, there is _snow place like home_ , Bunny, still the _cold_ _adventurer succeeds the best_! And, _ice suspect_ that _there's snowman_ more able to _frostrate_ your resolve than me!'

'Is _that_ you being persuasive?' I asked as I let him take my hat and coat and hand them along with his own to the attendant. ‘Making ‒ _wintery puns_?’

'Yes; is it working?'

Raffles shot me an innocently devilish smile, then, mischief twinkling in his eyes as he gestured for me to walk ahead of him to our table. He was as much the gentleman as the schoolboy, as refined as he was playful, and, I knew full well, quite as capable of punning his way through to the dessert course as he was of dazzling me senseless with his wit, charming me dizzy with his with his words, or undoing me entirely with his smiles; and in this mood I wasn't sure he wouldn't go for all three, just for the hell of it. He was incorrigible. He was infuriating. He was every bit the A.J. Raffles I loved so very much ‒ and infinitely better than even snow over London at Christmas.

'You know, surprisingly, A.J., it really, _really is!’_

**Author's Note:**

> I've now read far more about the weather in south-east England from November to March for the years 1885 to 1900 than I ever, ever wanted to. Haha. And _why???_ -shrugs- fills the time, dunnit?


End file.
